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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29197311">la vie en rose</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/svftbrian/pseuds/svftbrian'>svftbrian</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>whizzvin fluff :D [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Falsettos - Lapine/Finn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, F/M, First Dates, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Ice Cream Parlors, Love Confessions, M/M, i started this back in fuckin january/december and forgot to finish it, this is called "i dont like this but i do help" in my google docs LMAO, this is my longest fic to date, we stan the lesbians</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:28:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,231</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29197311</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/svftbrian/pseuds/svftbrian</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Whizzer sighs as he pockets his phone again. He’s never understood dating. Devoting your life to someone who could house your heart one moment, and shatter it to pathetic pieces the next. All Cordelia does is gush to him about her girlfriend, and even then he tunes it out and focuses on something new entirely - giving the occasional “Oh wow,” or “That’s sweet,” of course. He doesn’t want her to know he paints love in a negative light, or she might set him up with someone again. He shudders at the memory. Whizzer’s type is quick, rough. Over and done with. You don’t have to face them again, because it meant no more than the dirt amongst the sidewalk. Although, he’d never really fallen in love before; And wasn’t planning to.</p><p>;-;<br/>whizzer doesn't "do" love. until he meets marvin.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dr. Charlotte/Cordelia (Falsettos), Trina/Mendel Weisenbachfeld, Whizzer Brown/Marvin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>whizzvin fluff :D [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000815</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>la vie en rose</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi !! uh, this is my longest fic to date, and i'm kinda proud ?? uhh i'll update my splatoon fic asap !!</p><p>comments and kudos are greatly appreciated !! they make me really happy &lt;33</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was the dead of night, and the city of New York - rumoured for its bustling agenda and cacophonous streets - is deadly quiet; Occasionally, the frequent burst of life would groan from one of many frequent casino’s littered around the town like leaves in the fall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A brown-haired boy brings an ebony camera up to his eye with quivering hands. The shutter clicks obnoxiously as he presses a white button, and, just for a moment, time stands still. The world stands still, and it’s just him and the night sky, alone yet fused, quiet yet loud, all at the same time. He’s bundled into an itchy, muddled sweater his sweet mother had gifted him before he hurried away on the clattering train to his new college. It’s brown and creme, and the neck is misshapen and hangs loosely around his collarbone, but he cherishes it because it smells of home; Coffee - no doubt on his father’s part, as he has vivid memories of Theodore Brown pouring the scalding liquid down his throat - and hints of pastries his mother, Joanna Brown, had buried away past the glass display they sat in her coffee shop down the road from his old house - well, his </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s sat on the edge of his dorm building, the concrete roof sending cold shockwaves through the nerves in his feet. His socks had begun to fray a couple months back from the frequent scratches and scuffs the streets had given him at what seemed to be the same time of night each - well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>photoshoot</span>
  </em>
  <span>, one could say - he had hurried out to capture.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His phone gives a weary chime, and through the harsh light (that he promptly turns down) and the numerous cracks on his screen, which were subsequent of his overall scattered demeanor, he makes out the message;</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>tweedleDEE: </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>i’m staying @ charlottes!! will u b ok??</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He chuckles softly as his bitten-nails compose an answer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>bizzer: </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>ofc,, don’t do anything i wouldn't do ;))))</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>tweedleDEE: </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>honey, i’d never dream of dating a man. have fun!! x</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whizzer sighs as he pockets his phone again. He’s never understood </span>
  <em>
    <span>dating</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Devoting your life to someone who could house your heart one moment, and shatter it to pathetic pieces the next. All Cordelia does is gush to him about her girlfriend, and even then he tunes it out and focuses on something new entirely - giving the occasional “Oh wow,” or “That’s sweet,” of course. He doesn’t want her to know he paints love in a negative light, or she might set him up with someone again. He shudders at the memory. Whizzer’s type is quick, rough. Over and done with. You don’t have to face them again, because it meant no more than the dirt amongst the sidewalk. Although, he’d never really </span>
  <em>
    <span>fallen in love</span>
  </em>
  <span> before; And wasn’t planning to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The stars dance around his head as he stands up and brushes the grit off his pyjama pants. When he turns around, he’s suddenly met with the door of the staircase leading up to the door being opened, and a rather endearing boy steps out, hair brown and curly, yet his eyes a sharp contrast of azure, and states, “Sorry to ask, but why do you come out here each night?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whizzer sends him an amused glare as he gestures to the camera lazily slung around his neck. The other boy laughs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pretty view, then?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“S’pose,” He itches his neck, “You?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy smiles, “I just needed some fresh air. Culinary is… Stressful,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah, my friend takes culinary,” He starts, “What else are you taking?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, history, and geography. Worst classes I ever could’ve picked,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whizzer chuckles, letting the wind harshly snap at him through the thin plaid pants and knitted sweater, and he involuntarily gives a shudder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry to keep you from going inside, I should let you go,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, don’t apologize, it was rather pleasant to talk to you,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They depart with smiles, and go on with their nights. A thick feeling settles in Whizzer’s stomach; He feels like he’ll see him again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>;-;</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This time, Whizzer catches his name.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d hurried to meet Cordelia after his third period of AP English - which felt like literal hell on earth - and she was in Culinary. Adorning his shoulders was his usual pastel pink polo, a suave leather jacket in a sweet shade of brown laid delicately upon that, and his usual cream pants. His headphones were carefully placed over his ever-so time consuming brown waves, an old tune flowing through his mind. John Lennon, he seemed to recall. Once he reached Building D, he swiped through the flurry of students, his corduroy boots giving heavy thuds against the pearl linoleum floor. He whistled as his legs carried him, chewing pink bubblegum betwixt his pearly whites. Swinging the door open, his eyes flickered from Cordelia, to…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Marvin, this is Whizzer!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Marvin, huh?”  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Whizzer thought to himself, grinning broadly at Marvin’s bewildered expression.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My </span>
  <em>
    <span>actual</span>
  </em>
  <span> name is Andrew, but Cordelia here chose </span>
  <em>
    <span>Whizzer</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” He playfully nudged said blonde, and watched as Marvin </span>
  <em>
    <span>observes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as Marvin…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tell you what,” Cordelia starts, brushing her hands down on her weary apron, which had begun to show signs of fraying, “I know a lovely coffee joint just down the road from here, why don’t we all meet up there? I can bring my friend Charlotte!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She nudges the brunette in the side, “Y’know, like a dou-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Delia, that sounds </span>
  <em>
    <span>great</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’ll have to check my schedule,” He grits his teeth begrudgingly, adding ‘Murder Cordelia’ to his mental to-do list.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The blonde quips, “You have my number, so we can arrange a time, yeah?” And the other boy nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Marvin starts, suddenly very interested in his half-baked lasagna, “It was nice to meet you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Whizzer</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” He sounds like he’s testing the name on his tongue, to see if it </span>
  <em>
    <span>fits</span>
  </em>
  <span>, to see if his mouth will </span>
  <em>
    <span>allow</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Marvin</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Whizzer does the same, and his name leaves a taste to linger. It’s sweet yet sour, but not </span>
  <em>
    <span>bland</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s a sense of home, but without the dark hours spent cooped up in his dark, sad bedroom, solitary, and embracing the thick, salty tears hurtling down his hot cheeks, with his hands intertwined in his brown locks. In the sense that the name feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>familiar</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And, although he hates to admit it, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> does, his mouth </span>
  <em>
    <span>allows</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And it seems his heart does too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>;-;</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s not a date</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Cordelia. We’ve</span>
  <em>
    <span> just met</span>
  </em>
  <span>- You’re as bad as my</span>
  <em>
    <span> mom!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their dorm smells of sweet pine wood and crisp cinnamon - as subject to Cordelia’s frequent cooking - and it’s adorned with thick layers of sweet navy blue paint. Plates are delicately stacked on top of one another on their pearl shelves, bowls of assorted colours laid in a sweet order, many of them are mint green with sweet white dots along the ceramic edges. Silverware is ordered by cans they had previously ripped the labels off and painted abstractly. Their curtains are pale blue, akin to their windowsill, and their sofa is situated in front of their TV.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The oven beeps obnoxiously, “That’s something I refuse to agree with, apart from the fact that your mom is a legend,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A cloud of ebony curls peek from over a sleek yet battered laptop screen, with one L in ‘Dell’ taped over with a slip of paper, coloured to look like a trans flag, “True, Joanna Brown is an ultimate legend and no-one changes that,” He brings his head up, his dark eyes peering at Whizzer through his thick-rimmed glasses, “Also, who’s the guy you’re going on a date with?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mendel,</span>
  </em>
  <span> I swear to the good heavens-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whizzer,” Cordelia soothes, placing a hand on his shoulder, “You know, you don’t have to… well, be </span>
  <em>
    <span>scared</span>
  </em>
  <span> of love,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>scary</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it’s a waste of my time,” He stands, shrugging her hand off, “I don’t feel the </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> to spend my life with someone who could drop me,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mendel pipes up again, “But you </span>
  <em>
    <span>learn</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Whiz, just like I did. Hell, I didn’t understand the fad about love and dating until I saw Trina,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘Del, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I don’t want to hear about your </span>
  <em>
    <span>heterosexual</span>
  </em>
  <span> love life,” He jokes, pulling a baby blue cable-knit over his head, stopping abruptly, “Also, when- no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> are you here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because your place has </span>
  <em>
    <span>heating</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Trin’s trying to get her pop to come up and fix it,” He states, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “And </span>
  <em>
    <span>food</span>
  </em>
  <span>,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where are you going?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just to the roof,” The door swings open, revealing the dorm hall, “Don’t miss me too much,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The roof is calm, cool; A steady breeze is softly dancing around the tall boy as he simply stands and </span>
  <em>
    <span>admires</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Admires how the sun has begun to make its glorious descent, painting the clouds with rich shades of orange and red. Admires how the city looks still, yet many people are living in a story. Painting a world, either positively or negatively, but still making an </span>
  <em>
    <span>impact</span>
  </em>
  <span>, enough to cause a sense of </span>
  <em>
    <span>interest</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a sense of </span>
  <em>
    <span>fortune</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Admires how there’s another boy not far from where he is, his curly hair flowing softly in the-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wait. Marvin?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We have </span>
  <em>
    <span>got</span>
  </em>
  <span> to stop running into each other here,” Whizzer jokes, startling the other boy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus,” He sighs, “You scared the shit outta me,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” He chuckles, moving closer. As he does, he notices the guitar in Marvin’s arms, softly strumming.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He quickly pauses as he feels Whizzer approaching, looking up at the boy from where he’s sat. The boy in questions hums, “Hm, I didn’t know you played guitar,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t expect you to,” Marvin replies, picking at his nails absentmindedly. He looks over quickly to Whizzer, whose head is cocked to one side in an intrigued manner. Shit, he doesn’t want him to </span>
  <em>
    <span>play, </span>
  </em>
  <span>does he?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eyeing the strings nervously, Marvin hears him speak, “You know, you don’t have to, if it makes you uncomfortable. Totally optional,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sigh, “What do you want to hear?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whizzer perked up at that, smiling brightly, “What do you know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Marvin settled for a simple tune, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Imagine, </span>
  </em>
  <span>by John Lennon. His father had sung this to him when he was little, so it resonated a sense of nostalgia within the boy. As his fingers glide across the strings, mixing sweet notes betwixt chords, he lets himself get lost. He floats off the ground, leaving only Whizzer behind - who Marvin tries not to stare at while singing - and forgets himself. He’s not shy anymore, voice no longer a meek whisper barely heard in the crowds of school. No, now he’s standing out. Letting the tune transport him away from the roof they’re sat on, and to someplace better. A place where nights aren’t spent glaring in the mirror, poking at parts of your body, a place where even the smallest misunderstandings are blown out of proportion, and land you without food for days on end. He’s free here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The song comes to a stop, and Marvin looks over at Whizzer, “...I, uh, I got carried away, sorry-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” The boy’s voice is watery, “Y-You didn’t, Marv, that was…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Marvin smiles bashfully, taking in Whizzer’s compliments (they’re probably the most real ones he’s gotten), before Whizzer speaks, “How about that coffee, then? Tomorrow, after class?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Marvin chuckles, “Sounds like a plan,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>;-;</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Marvin, wait up!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy in question comes to a stop as he hears Whizzer’s voice, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t set his heart aflame, “Hey Whizzer,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” He panted, leaning over to catch his breath, “Wanna walk together?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And from then on, the two boys got closer. It had been a couple weeks since their “First meet” (Which Whizzer argues was the roof, but Marvin says was in the Food Tech room) and they were both fond of eachother. Walks to class evolved into sitting together in the cafeteria, to eventually walking to their dorms together. Each trip would leave sweet smiles, and sometimes hands would brush, but neither would mind as they moved hands to avoid it reoccurring. Both looked forward to the coffee shop.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>;-;</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know what, this is a nice place,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The, well, not exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>cafe, </span>
  </em>
  <span>more of an Ice Cream Parlour, isn’t as bustling and alive as it usually is. But, it’s still as warm and inviting as Whizzer remembers it, fooling himself with the soft echo of his childish laughter with his parents as a child. The booths are red, tables creme, and the obscure display of nearly every ice-cream flavour leaves him breathless and giddy once again. The bitter aroma of coffee works it’s way around the shop, peering in every seat, through each window, and out the door, letting others marvel in it’s scent before going on with their day. He sighs blissfully, leaning into the memories. Until he remembers that Marvin is there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Collecting himself, he muses, “So, what flavour’s on your mind?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Cookies and Cream- Wait, no- KitKat, cause it’s crunchy- But I could also get-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whizzer laughs at his mumbling, “You know you can get three scoops?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes </span>
  <em>
    <span>light up, </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Really?! I’ll take the Ferero Rocher, KitKat and Kinder Bueno, then,” He began to reach for his wallet, before Whizzer stopped him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no. I’ll pay,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait, no, the least I can do is buy you a coffee,” Marvin sighs, smiling at Whizzer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they get their ice-cream and drinks, they both relax into the booth. Slow Jazz is softly crooning through the shop as the clatter of mugs and plates accompanies. They make small talk - mostly about where they’re from, how they decided which courses to take - when suddenly, Whizzer’s chest feels like it’s contracting. It’s not painful, per se, but it does send his head spinning, All he can focus on as Marvin talks are his </span>
  <em>
    <span>eyes. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Were- Were they always that blue? They seemed to… twinkle, when he laughed. It blooms warmth in Whizzer’s chest, and he has to hold his breath to stop himself from screaming like a maniac in the middle of an ice-cream parlour. His ice-cream comes, and is placed in front of him. He dips the tip of his plastic spoon in, but pays no attention as Marvin asks him a question.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh, Whizzer?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head, “Hm? Sorry, I must’ve zoned out,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘S okay,” Marvin smiles and </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>“I was just asking which flavours you got?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy looks down to his ice-cream, watching the colours blend together, “Ah, I got raspberry sorbet, lemon and grapefruit,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ,” Marvin laughs, “That’s sour,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, how did you meet Cordelia, then?” And this time, Whizzer </span>
  <em>
    <span>listens. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He watches as Marvin smiles forlornly into the distance, eyes glossing over with adoration. He can see Marvin’s brain whirring through old memories, dating back to who-knows when, and this whole ordeal only makes Whizzer smile wider.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s snapped out of it, however, when Marvin gets a drop of ice-cream on his nose. Not thinking, Whizzer jumps in, “Oh! Let me get that for you,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Their eyes don’t trail off as they usually would as Whizzer leans in, ready for this to be the most embarrassing moment of his whole damn </span>
  <em>
    <span>life, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but Marvin has a small grin on his lips, and before Whizzer can question, he feels a cold smear on his cheek. Pulling back slightly, he squeals, “Did you just-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Marvin erupts into giggles, “I c-couldn’t help myself-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whizzer follows Marvin’s contagious bursts of laughter, leaning on his shoulder without care, not worrying about what people would think when they see a boy leaning over a booth, resting his head on another’s shoulder, brown ice-cream across his cheek. Because he lets himself get lost in the moment. He doesn’t get caught up in society, he just</span>
  <em>
    <span> lets go. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He can feel Marvin’s laughter bouncing inside his chest, and it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>enough. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Enough for him to feel safe with Marvin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the laughter dies down, Whizzer pulls back to glare at Marvin playfully, “How </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>you,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Marvin sighs, still giddy, and reaches up to swipe the ice-cream from Whizzer’s cheek, cheekily grinning as he licks it off his finger. Whizzer’s face is burning as he lets out a choked laugh, leaning back into his chair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re-” Marvin starts, but stops himself suddenly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m…?” Whizzer leads him on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re the bestest friend I’ve ever had, you know that?” He looks up, smiling again, “And I don’t want to lose you. Promise me I won’t lose you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whizzer grins, “I promise,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, you said you came from Boston?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>;-;</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s raining outside as Whizzer lies awake. He blames it on the coffee in his system, hurrying around his veins. He sighs and rubs a weary hand down his face, getting up to make himself a glass of water. Thinking about it, he reckons he could eat a bagel, maybe a bagel sandwich?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a task at hand, he gets up carefully, pulling a cardigan over his shoulders avoiding every squeaking floorboard so as to not disturb Cordelia, who’s sleeping peacefully in her own room. The kitchen is dark and still, rain pattering against the window-pane as everyone lay still, apart from him. He gently opens the cupboards, almost as if he’s moving on autopilot, and after he puts the bagels in the toaster, pours himself a glass of water and lets his mind wander. He goes back to the ice-cream parlour, and he can </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>distantly hear Marvin’s laughter jingling in his chest, feel his finger brushing against his cheek, and feels himself flush again. Marvin’s finger was etched with callouses from the guitar, and it’s burned into Whizzer’s senses, and if he tries hard enough he’s sure he can feel it, gently swiping against his skin. His heart lurches against his rib-cage, and beats as loud as the toaster popping, startling him out of his thoughts. As he absentmindedly swipes cream cheese over the top of the bagel, he imagines Marvin wandering down the hall, his voice thick with sleep, pleading Whizzer to </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Come back to bed, baby, it’s early,’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>And even the thought has him teary-eyed and smiling. He lays the salmon slices over the cheese, pushing down the top bagel before grabbing his water and heading back to bed. He sits in the dark, bagel sandwich in hand, and closes his eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’s turned into a lovesick teenager, hasn’t he? But the thought doesn’t matter anymore, as he imagines what being with Marvin could bring him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the realisation hits him, the sandwich he previously held slumps ever so slightly in his grip: He loves Marvin. He wants to be with Marvin, to hold him, kiss him…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And this is all new territory to Whizzer. He’s never “loved” anyone before, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t think he’d start with the kid from the roof. It’s taken him about two months, and even </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>is quick to anyone outside. But, does he care? Who would strive to ruin someone’s happiness to tell them they </span>
  <em>
    <span>“fell in love too quick,”</span>
  </em>
  <span>? He doesn’t spare a thought of anyone trying to ruin his relationship, instead he laughs. Bubbling out of his chest, the laughs keep on coming and spilling over, from his lips, his eyes, his heart. His face has grown hot as he breathlessly giggles into his sleeve of his cardigan, hunching over. Tears of mirth have begun to slide down his ruddy cheeks, but he doesn’t care. Because he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>now, damnit. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>why his stomach flips whenever Marvin leans in too close to whisper the answer to a question, and he knows why his heart jumps into his mouth when he catches Marvin staring. His breathing comes in laboured pants when he’s caught himself again, love still flowing through his veins. And he realises, he can’t keep this in anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Without a second thought, he digs out the record player his mother had gifted him, and gets to work. Rifling through his closet, he pulls out a large box, with “VINYLS” written on the top in Whizzer’s chicken-scratch glory. He carefully opens the box, flipping through the records, until he finds it - albeit a bit cliché - “La Vie En Rose” stares back at him, Edith Piaf looking at him as if to say</span>
  <em>
    <span> “Well, what are you waiting for?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He crosses his legs, lifts his laptop into his lap, and googles the nicest restaurant he could probably afford.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>;-;</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A knock sounds at their door, spiking Whizzer’s nerves, “Hey, Charlotte!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Whiz,” She smiles back, giving in to his embrace. He quickly ushers her to the living room, where both Mendel, Trina and Cordelia are sitting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So,” Trina starts, drawing out the last letter, “What are we here for?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, Mendel, I can’t have you nor Cordelia here this evening,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The blonde snickers, “Kickin’ us out of our </span>
  <em>
    <span>own </span>
  </em>
  <span>apartment-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no! I just…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I get it!” Mendel smiles, clicking his fingers, “You’re gonna bring one of your </span>
  <em>
    <span>screws </span>
  </em>
  <span>ba-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He rips it off like a band-aid, “It’s Marvin,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The room falls quiet. Trina is the first to break the silence, “What, that Averitt kid? The one in my geography class?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Cordelia smiles, her eyes glinting, “Do you… Whizzer, do you love him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His breath catches in his throat, and he winces at how meek his voice sounds when he admits, “Y-Yes-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Finally!” Charlotte hollars over Trina and Mendel's mirthful round of applause and Cordelia’s whooping. She gets up and tackles him in an embrace, yet again knocking the breath out of him, earning an </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Oomf-”</span>
  </em>
  <span> from the brown-haired boy. He stammers, “S-So that’s why I needed you out? Sorry to just… </span>
  <em>
    <span>spring </span>
  </em>
  <span>this on you, but-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Whiz,” Trina laughs, “My dad came and fixed our heating, so Mendel and me were planning a night-in anyways,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re always up for a night-in,” Charlotte said, Cordelia making a small noise of agreement as she pulls back from the embrace.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look after him, yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sniffs, “Yeah,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>;-;</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ohh, this place is </span>
  <em>
    <span>fancy,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Marvin grins slyly at Whizzer, who’s trying his hardest not to break down and cry in the middle of a restaurant. The windows are framed with plants, and the lighting is dim, so Whizzer thought it would be the perfect-yet-casual place to tell someone you want to kiss them. A sweet mix of smells wafts gently from the kitchen around the restaurant, and that alone is enough to calm the taller boy. They’re led to their table, and invited to order as soon as they’d like.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Marvin smiles gently, “You look really nice,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a simple dress shirt and plack trousers, but Whizzer grins nonetheless, his heart exploding. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God, </span>
  </em>
  <span>this isn’t helping his case, “Thank you. So do you, by the way. Your handkerchief is cute,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The handkerchief in question is baby blue, small indigo dots diagonally dancing across the edges, complementing his eyes and matching his navy suit. He laughs suddenly, smiling down at it, and Whizzer almost wants to bail. He can’t do this. Marvin deserves someone better. All these thoughts flood into his mind, and he has to hold his breath otherwise he might spill everything that’s running through his head. But then he thinks back to what Marvin said at the parlour. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re the bestest friend I’ve ever had, you know that? And I don’t want to lose you,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Marvin is scanning through the menu, his eyes squinting in concentration and lip between his teeth, making Whizzer stifle a laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Promise me I won’t lose you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whizzer feels calm. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>can </span>
  </em>
  <span>do this. He just has to </span>
  <em>
    <span>try. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And dammit, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>promised. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And he’s never broken a promise before, and he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>going to start now. The waitress comes over, takes their orders, and they’re left to chat again. Talking with Marvin is easy, it feels almost natural, like he’s been doing it for years now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Looking around, Marvin wanders aloud, “You know, I’ve actually never been here before,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, really? I found it not too long ago,” He smiles, “Apparently, their shrimp is to </span>
  <em>
    <span>die </span>
  </em>
  <span>for,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll pay-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No! No, I can, I want you to-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Marvin looks positively bewildered, the light framing his deep azure eyes as he questioningly gawks at Whizzer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want to, uh, treat you? Like, I want to let you know that I…” He swallows, “I couldn’t get through school without you, and- Well, I want you to know I’m so glad I know you,” He has to choke down </span>
  <em>
    <span>“And I love you,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s too early for that. He has a plan for that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“W-Whizzer…” Marvin smiles lopsidedly (A hobby of his, Whizzer swears) and reaches to lay his hand atop Whizzer own, clasped at the edge of the table. Until the waitress brings back their pasta, laying it down where Marvin was reaching, causing them both to retract their hands. Their eyes meet, neglect flashing across blue and brown, until they’re drawn towards the food in front of them, his tuna pasta laughing into his face as the steam only proves it’s point further. The food is good, but so is the atmosphere. Back to small talk, but it’s still easy. Twilight has begun to lower it’s curtains on the city outside, but Marvin is the brightest star Whizzer’s seen. He seems to light up the room, light up each person, simply radiating happiness. But he affects Whizzer the most.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they’re finished, they skip dessert, since Whizzer has a plan (this he keeps quiet) and head outside, the cold rush of air slicing through them both. He turns to Marvin, “Hey, wanna head back to my place? I have peanut butter cups and a shit-load of cake,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughs, less self-conscious, “How could I say no?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They arrive back, and Whizzer has delicately laced each windowsill with fairy lights and ferns, lighting candles on each surface. Each couch is laced with new blankets and new cushions, making Marvin gasp softly as he takes it in. The smell of cinnamon wafts slowly from their small mint kitchen, and it’s just begun to rain on their balcony that did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>come with the dorm, and Whizzer and his dad did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>maybe illegally put in. He closes the door behind Marvin, taking his coat and hanging it on their rack. He smiles nervously, toying with his hands as he watches Marvin swing open the door to the balcony, swinging his head back to gawk at Whizzer again, “What?!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My dad put it in,” He smiled, wandering over. It was wide enough to fit two people, and the record player was laying open under shelter, the vinyl placed inside, surrounded by small fairy lights. When Marvin turns back around to look at the cityline, Whizzer takes a deep breath, and lowers the arm on the player. It begins to crackle, snapping Marvin out of his daze to look at Whizzer, who has his hand outstretched.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dance with me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“O-Oh, no, I can’t dance-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nonsense,” Whizzer strides over, taking Marvin’s hand delicately in his, hearing Marvin’s breath hitch, “Everyone can dance,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pulls Marvin’s arms apart, stringing one out and leaving the other one to bend against their chests, synchronizing their heartbeats. Marvin turns red but laughs nonetheless as Whizzer sways them gently to the music. Piaf’s voice is calm and soothing, sending shockwaves through their bodies as they move in time, forgetting the rest of the world. Marvin’s hand is soft in his, and his fingers are shaking ever so slightly, so Whizzer traces a pattern with the tips of his fingers into Marvin’s hand, back and forth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Il est entré dans mon coeur,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Edith croons, and if Whizzer deciphers his French knowledge enough, he can catch on that… </span>
  <em>
    <span>“He has entered my heart,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> And </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she couldn’t be more right. He slips his hands down to rest on Marvin’s hips, since his brain is too fuzzy to notice what he’s doing, and Marvin brings his arms to rest around Whizzer’s neck, laying his head against that spot. When he breathes a faint, “This is nice,” It sends goosebumps rippling across Whizzer’s skin. The rain has seeped through their clothes, leaving them both flushed yet so </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s pattering against the balcony’s floor, harmonizing with the record as it passes half-way through it’s tune. He feels Marvin smile against his neck, making his heart set alight. He realises that he needs to do this now, because then he’ll have no time. If he decides to back out, it’ll only cost him pain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes a deep breath, and pulls back, the movement provoking Marvin’s head away from its previous spot. His expression is laced with concern, “Whizzer? You okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Marvin…” He moves ever so slightly closer, feeling Marvin tense.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I-I need- I need to tell you something, Marv, I-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Marvin leans in slightly, picking up on what Whizzer is trying to say, “Whiz-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Realising this is going nowhere, Whizzer gently pulls Marvin’s head towards his own and slots his lips to Marvin’s. His heart is hammering like the rain around them, and he thinks he’s royally fucked up. He feels himself shaking as he tries to undo his actions, ready for Marvin to never speak to him again, and-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But his worries go quiet when Marvin pulls himself somehow closer, tilts his head, and kisses him back. It feels delightful, a simple touch of lips, and the world seems to filter out as they kiss. He splays his hand against Marvin’s back, feeling the soft cotton of his suit under his skin, but he doesn’t feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>real </span>
  </em>
  <span>at the same time. They pull away for air, moving the track to repeat, and laugh into the night. Marvin’s eyes are watery when he looks back up at Whizzer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you, Marvin Averitt,” Whizzer chokes out, tears finally spilling down his cheeks, “You’re the first man I’ve ever loved, and I couldn’t have asked for anyone better,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Marvin kisses him in gratitude, maybe a bit </span>
  <em>
    <span>too </span>
  </em>
  <span>fast, and it sends Whizzer’s body rippling. He brings his hands down Whizzer’s back, tracing past his shoulder blades and to rest on his hips as well. Whizzer leads them dancing again, both chuckling into each other as they sway to the music. Whizzer dips Marvin, earning a yelp out of the shorter boy, who grabs him by the lapels of his jacket to draw him closer, kissing him again. And Whizzer knows he’s never going to grow tired of this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Marvin moves his hand to cradle Whizzer’s face, toying with his ear, “So, about that cake-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Whizzer laughs good-naturedly, “Oh of course. Can’t forget the peanut butter cups,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The cake in question is iced with the words </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Prom?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>in chocolate icing, to which Marvin laughs and kisses him, agreeing, and gets cake frosting on Whizzer’s cheek again. Instead of using his finger, he kisses the spot, getting most the icing off. That </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone </span>
  </em>
  <span>makes Whizzer swoon. Afterwards, they go to Whizzer’s bedroom, and read together. Since they didn’t want to detach hands, they have to set their book down to turn the page. Around 20 minutes in, Whizzer realises Marvin has fallen asleep on his shoulder. So, he shuts the light off, corners the book, and snuggles down to meet Marvin, who’s adorned in Whizzer’s spare pyjamas.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for this,” Marvin murmurs against Whizzer’s arms, “Love you,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you too,”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i hope you enjoyed ! leave a comment if you want and have a nice day :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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